


What Happens in the Headmaster's Office...

by willownymeria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, I need a shower, I'm so sorry, Other, PWP, hat sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 21:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6441862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willownymeria/pseuds/willownymeria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...stays in the Headmaster's Office. Written for a bet made in December 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens in the Headmaster's Office...

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Kyle. Here it is.

Hogwarts was silent. A chilly spring mist lay over the darkened grounds, and the torches flickered in their sconces as the castle slept.

Severus Snape sat behind the headmaster’s desk, waiting for the Dark Lord to come.

A draft of unusually frigid air blew in behind him, ruffling the papers on the desk and causing a shiver to move down his spine. He didn’t remember opening a window. Snape stood and swooped to the pane, shutting it irritably before returning to his seat. Without warning, a high, cold voice spoke from behind him.

“You do well to be here, Severus.”

Snape turned slowly to face his master, expression passive.

“You may wonder why I wanted to meet you here, in the old room of a dead fool. That is my business. For you, I have a task.” The Dark Lord grinned, a sick contortion that made his skin crack near the lips.

“Of course, my Lord.”

“Gather the others at Hogwarts who are loyal to me. Bring them here one hour from now. Until then, leave me.”

“My Lord?”

“I have business here. Go.” The Dark Lord’s eyes burned, leaving no room for questions.

Snape bowed and swept from the room in a billow of black robes.

 

Lord Voldemort stood in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts. The few portraits who had not left their frames were feigning sleep or slowly inching away. The assortment of odds and ends kept by Albus Dumbledore were cleared away after his death, and without them the room was empty enough to grow echoes with every footstep. So much wasted potential… For knowledge, and for pleasure.

Lord Voldemort could feel he was being watched.

Sitting unobtrusively on top of a large black cabinet was the ancient Sorting Hat, its beady cloth eye sockets pensive as they regarded the Dark Lord. It looked the same as ever - wrinkled, dingy, wide-brimmed - exactly as it had when he, Voldemort, had been in school.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

 

Wandlessly and maintaining eye contact, Voldemort summoned the Hat to the desk and took the seat just vacated by Snape. The hat stirred when it touched the hard wood surface, tilting its point questioningly.

“I had not expected to see you here, Tom. Does this mean you have changed your mind?”

Even after all the years, nothing could have prepared Lord Voldemort to hear that voice again. “No. And you must use my proper name if we are to… say a proper farewell.”

“I would that it was not so. The Potter boy is more than he seems. You would do well to remember that… my Lord.”

“I’ll do more than remember.”

The hat shifted. “Do you _promise_?”

“Lord Voldemort does not promise. I will show you.” Something in his voice had lowered. If someone heard Voldemort’s words and were alive for long enough afterward to be asked to describe their sound, they might say he crooned.

 

Voldemort gripped his robes in two pale fists, inching them up until they bunched around his waist. This, among many things, used to be one of his favorite things about traditional wizardwear. Nothing got in the way when it counted.

The Hat tipped downward and hummed.

Almost tenderly, Voldemort lifted the Hat off the desk by its brim, soft with wear. He had contributed in no small part to that wear, when he was young. Headmaster Dippet would have a meeting, and while he was gone young Tom Riddle’s - and later young Lord Voldemort’s - shouts of satisfaction would echo off the opulent walls. Great power was attracted to great power. If the castle and nearly all it contained was to be destroyed, this was the closest thing to sentimental he would ever allow himself to be. Just this once. For the sake of tradition. He lowered the Hat into his lap, covering his milk-white member.

One of the vile muggle things he had as a boy, before he ascended to his rightful place among wizards, was a book with pictures from around the world. One was of a snake charmer, who called a cobra out of his hat for a crowd. He smirked at the image as he took hold of himself through the Hat.

The Hat’s sigh mingled with the Dark Lord’s as they began to move together.

“Tom… My Lord… Have you heard of Rubik’s cubes?”

Voldemort shuddered at the Hat’s velvety tones. Even on the wrong head, its voice sounded as though it was pressed intimately against his ears. “No. Tell me,” he groaned.

 

This was how it used to be. Lord Voldemort would pleasure himself with the rough, wonderful fabric of the Hat while it talked. It described things about the muggle world learned from observation and the minds of students. The most violent pleasure the Dark Lord ever experienced was when the Hat murmured the opening lines of some muggle story about trekking among the stars. Orgasm had rocked his body so thoroughly that Professor Dippet nearly caught him with his robes up. He didn’t have time to put the rumpled hat back on its cabinet, even – one _scourgify_ and the Headmaster had returned to his office with yet another refusal of employment in hand.

 

“So many colorful squares, Tom… Do you know what I would do if I had hands?” If the Hat could be breathless, it was.

“What – oh, Merlin – what would you do?”

“I would solve that blasted Rubik’s cube, my Lord. Again and again and… again.”

 

That was it. The Dark Lord’s bony hand moved faster over the Hat and he came. Hissing sibilants into the empty room, he sat back in the plush desk chair, leaving the Hat over his lap.

Just then, the door swung open.

 

“All here as you asked, my L-” Snape stopped in his tracks, causing Amycus Carrow to walk into his back. The group of Death Eaters stood in the threshold of the office, blinking and trying their hardest not to look as though anything was amiss.

Lord Voldemort removed the Hat from his lap, lowered his robes, and stood. He raised his wand.

 

“ _Obliviate_.”


End file.
